The walls were almost up, fortified. The cement pressed firmly between the bricks, excess scraped away cleanly. And as I laid the last rectangle made of baked stone and sand onto the foundation—ever so carefully, even—it tumbled and crumbled and lay in rubble. All of it. All my work.
Plenty of blood, plenty of sweat. Now, the tears.
Your hand wrestles with mine in the dark. And now it grasps at the abyss that is my absence. It can feel like an abyss, can’t it? The loneliness. The late night/early morning communications that get lost in tears flowing down the shower drain as I try to get ready for work. For the day. For my life. Or maybe just the next moment.
Yes, just the next moment.